


The Fractured Made Whole

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Getting Back Together, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Rannoch, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Today is a day of many beginnings - including some Zaal'Koris doesn't expect.





	The Fractured Made Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Floranna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floranna/gifts).



Zaal’Koris is ready to collapse. His limbs ache; his bones quarrel with every moment he makes. Still, he clings to his Captain’s chair, his fingers no doubt holding so tight to the console that they would be white, the blood drained out of them. Every corner of the fabric of his suit itches, clinging to him with sweat.

He waits until the rest of his crew have left their positions, going home to celebrate in the Quib Quib’s mess hall, then he sags forward, exhausted. _They have done it._

He can't believe it. He had thought after Han’Garrell and Daro’Xen had convinced Shala’Ran of the case for war, that their days were numbered. Either they would die in a glorious suicide run (which, privately, he had thought likely, and struggled to make his peace with), or they would wipe out the Geth, ruining what might be their finest collaborator.

He did not agree with the war, but he had not shirked his duty as the captain. Nor had any of his crew-mates; the proud men and women of the Quib Quib are not cowards.

And now – they have done it. The war is over, in the best way possible.

 He needs to write a letter to Tali'Zorah, to Shepard. He needs to figure out which Geth would be amenable to helping them, to bring them onboard. Of course, the Quib Quib would welcome their new collaborators. And the Geth well – there was _so much_ he needs to learn about them, about their cultures.

The Quarians have not gone down in flames, and neither have the Geth. Instead, they have  _triumphed_.

 _Together_.

 He can barely make his way to his chambers. He is shaking by the time he’s gotten to the tight corners of his pressure-sealed room; even as Captain, he has only been allowed a mere six inches of extra space. He hangs up his helmet, feeling the sweat cling to his hair. He should have cut it, years ago, but he could never bring himself to, remembering how much Han had liked it. He slowly pulls off the familial fabrics, the proud Koris pattern that his mother had given him so many moons ago. Last, he rips his suit, which was the greatest relief of all.

He would have to put in an appearance in the mess later, of course; but for now, he flips into the silence of his decontamination unit, then under the covers of his bed. The events of the battle – and the unbelievable victory – have exhausted him. He closes his eyes, mentally running through all the things he needs to do when he wakes up.  

And, as if on queue, his omni lights up, a new call coming in. He squints through one open eye and looks at it – Han’Gerrell.

He doesn't bother to put on the helmet as he turns on the vid-call. “Yes?”

He is more clipped than is proper in communication between admirals and he can tell he’s hurt Han’Garrell’s feelings a bit by the way the man’s eyes squeeze shut; he is surprised by this, but more surprised that Han hadn’t bothered to put on his helmet again, either. It was a gesture of intimacy and respect. He bit his lower lip and shook his head.

“Apologies, Admiral. It has been a long day.” 

Han’Garrell nods at him, ego slightly soothed, though Garrell will find another thing to argue about, soon enough; of this, Zaal'Koris is sure. He says little for a moment, and Zaal’Koris shuts his eyes tight in a wince, wondering if Han’Garrell has contacted him just to complain.

“A good day, for you,” Han eventually says. His voice was carefully neutral, and Zaal blinked, staring at him. Han had always been a thoughtful man, and he looked it now, his eyes surprisingly warm.

“Yes,” he said. “A good day for you, as well. Unless you wanted to die on Rannoch.”

“ _Keelah Se’lai,_ ” Han says, and Zaal gawks at him a moment before Han opens his mouth into a small, measured grin.  “I have concerns, yes, but – we took the homeland today, _dor’av_.”

The old pet name brings a stab through Zaal’s heart, though he is too much the admiral to show it. It has been a very long time since he thought of Han as anything but a rival, a political enemy.  But today is the new start of so many things, and Zaal is not in the mood for old arguments any longer.

“It feels good, _dor’av_ ,” he says, the old word strange on his tongue. How long has it been since he considered Han’Garrell his _dor’av_ , his love? They had been boys then. They were men now.

“You fought well,” Han says, and there’s genuine pride in his voice. “And it is nice to know that you...kept the hair.”

He raises a hand as he shrugs, the long hair flowing over his shoulders. “I do remember how you liked it,” he says, finally.

 Once more they wait in affable silence. There is only the sound of the celebration around him, and the celebration on Han's ship as well. They are alone, and somehow, it feels all too quiet despite the noise that surrounded them.

 “I am heading to the surface tomorrow,” Han says, and his voice is gentle and kind. “I would be honored if you would consider joining me.”

 It is not just a survey. Zaal’Koris knows this from the way that Han looks at him, his eyes hungry and dark. He knows even as he considers it that he will submit, that he will go; that if Han looks at him with love in his eyes, he will submit. It will not forgive their old wounds, but neither will it benefit either of them to stick to old wounds, not now, not with so much going right for their people.

 Zaal’Koris will turn the cheek if he must. Pride was never his vice the way it has long been Han’s.

 “Of course,” he says, and he allows his voice to be husky, be warm. To allow himself to be glad, to be reunited. It feels like their fractures are healing, and, although it won’t be easy, Zaal’Koris is willing to try.

 “Thank you, _dor’av_ ,” Han says, and he sounds legitimately grateful. “I…have missed you.”

 “And I you,” he says. They talk a bit longer setting time and coordinates, and then his alarm goes off to rejoin his brethren in the mess hall.

 Zaal’Koris does not mind though. He is, for the first time in a long time, whole.


End file.
